The world is possibly ending, but probably isn't
by shaunamac
Summary: Adam and Eve unite to bring about the End of Time via an ancient, dark prophecy. Sam and Dean must work together with their little sister Danielle, as well as friends, enemies and allies, to prevent the end of the world as they know it. In an ironic twist of fate, it starts on Tuesday. Destiel, Crowchael, Jobby. Character death, violence, etc! Review and read the A/N please!
1. Chapter 1

The sun rose, just like any other day. Dean drank coffee that morning, just like any other day. Danielle took some water and went out to help an old hunter friend's son, which was admittedly not a daily occurrence, but nonetheless, considerably normal. Sam's phone had around a dozen missed calls, most being from Danielle, who took her new-found role as a little sister very seriously. But two were from Dean. And that was, as of two weeks ago, a very normal occurrence too.

Crowley had adapted to his life as a "normal" human quite well. So had Michael, he noted with a touch of amusement. They'd even taken on the concept of dinner parties to an exceptional degree. According to Jennifer across the street, Michael's quiches were simply heavenly. Currently, they were lying back on the couch together, Michael's lap forming a perfect cushion for the back of Crowley's head. Growley, the hellhound, was lying peacefully on his bed near the door. A rug covered up the scratch marks the lovable mutt had left on many occasions.

Meg took a long, grateful sip of her coffee. Say what you wanted about humans. But they certainly made a damn good drink. Booze. Coffee. Tequila and lattes had formed a major part of the demon's life, and since Crowley's grudging bestowment of his duties upon the rookies, she really did need a generous measure of the two. She was now dialling the number for Sabathiel, an angel friend of Castiel's. She never understood their damn names. Why not just Cas, or Sab? Nobody was going to use their full names on a daily basis, even if they were smoking hot.

Dean leafed through a book beside Castiel, growing confused as he tried to decipher the symbols. "Cas…" He gestured to the pages helplessly. Castiel obliged willingly, and made a note above the words quickly. "It's Sammy's job." He explained limply. The blue-eyed angel turned the pen over in his hand, and sighed softly. Dean expected a retort; instead he received a gentle pat on the shoulder. A ghost of a reluctant smile haunted his face, and he looked down at the table. Yeah. It was Sammy's job. Not his. His job had been to take care of Sammy. And he fucked up colossally.

Charlie was in her room, just opposite Danielle's. Her laptop was open on her lap, numbers and letters flying off into cyberspace the second she gave them permission to do so. Researching demons that lurked in the deep web was usually child's play, but this particular asshole had done a fraction of research. And so, his reward was being trolled and taunted by the self-proclaimed nerd of the Bunker. Although, Dean was stiff competition. So many puns!

Sam was lying flat on his back on the world's second-most-uncomfortable bed. The bed that held claim of the world's most uncomfortable bed was in a motel just outside of Cleveland. His phone buzzed again, bringing the grand total of missed calls up to 17. Eight from Danielle, seven from Dean, and two from Charlie. There was also a string of caps-locked messages from Castiel, who was deeply concerned for both Sam and his own lack of technological know-how. He turned on his side, facing away from the phone, and closed his eyes with a suppressed sigh of frustration.

Danielle watched her phone pleadingly. There were hundreds of pissed off angels waiting in Heaven for her to stop praying. Finally, it rang through, and she sighed, placing it back into her pocket as the young man ran around the corner, almost barrelling into her. "Jeez, lady! I'm sorry, did I hurt you?!" She shook her head in surprise, steadying them both and managing to smile in reassurance.

"I'm fine, thank you. Where is Declan Rosses dorm?" She asked politely. He almost scoffed, and jerked a thumb at the corridor he'd just sprinted down.

"Third door on your left. Don't touch anything; he says it's all haunted…" He waggled his fingers mockingly, and then headed back down to the east wing. Danielle watched him leave, then glanced down at her hand, waggling the fingers thoughtfully as she approached the door.

Bobby was at his wits end. He'd received around a dozen phone calls that morning from various hunters begging for a way to understand how so many supernatural beings were running loose upon the Earth. And that was just that morning. In the last two weeks? Countless more frantic messages and nervous voicemails heralded that nasty gut feeling that Bobby had grown used to in his time as a hunter. A veteran such as himself knew to fear that kind of reaction. In the same way a student grows to fear the results of a disastrous exam, an experienced hunter knows to fear prolonged exposure to phone calls regarding increased levels of supernatural foes, running amongst the oblivious civilians.

Jodie had gone from visiting Bobby every single day to being postponed like clockwork. But working with the law meant it was impossible not to pick up a few things along the way. Namely, how to deduce. And judging by the light in his garage every night, she was starting to deduce that something was far from alright with the hunter. Claire passed dry remarks about seeing Bobby leave the local stores with armloads of cans and tins, and Alex had even picked up on his more frequent purchases of salt, iron and silver tubing in the DIY store she worked in. All in all? Things were changing at a rate that made every fiber of her body tingle with unease.

Rowena was sitting in a dark warehouse, on a cracked, red leather armchair that only just managed to make it into her reluctantly-accepted abode for the simple fact that it was relatively comfortable. In front of her, a few books were opened on various pages, her hands pressed against the surface of the steel table. Her gaze was lifted, her pupils rolling back as the figure opposite her held her wrist carefully. "What do you _see_ , Rowena?" She asked insistently.

"Cassandra, just… A… Moment…." Rowena breathed out, her head tilting back a touch more. And suddenly… There it was. She could see the black smoke swirl around her, before shooting back to form a man's suit, and a woman's slim ball gown. Their hands were joined. Smirks that promised danger and things that exceeded the very essence of Hell itself. Yet, none of that caused the electric fear that seized up her entire body. No. It was the symbol, painted in blood behind them, a sick backdrop to their seductive unity.

"Rowena!" Cassandra yelped. And then the witch returned to the warehouse, gasping for air, frightened sobs escaping her. "Rowena?!" She crouched beside her and tried to encourage her to open her eyes.

"It was a myth!" She whispered shakily, clutching her mouth. "A legend! The prophecy… Dear god, no!" Her hand splayed across one of the numerous pages, and Cassandra reached forward, her caramel brown skin brushing the words.

"And so, it was proclaimed that the first woman of God, and the first man of God, would unite as the world became riddled with new, ugly life. And they would form a bond, upon which they would begin the abyss of Earth's final end. The abyss from which the End shall be born." Cassandra felt sick. "No…" And the two witches shared a single, terrified glance, and clung to each other, each praying for a salvation, for hope and redemption. But it was all too late.


	2. Chapter 2

The question had been resting on the horizon for some time now. Months, in fact. Just shy of a year. In truth, Crowley was surprised that it hadn't been asked sooner. Michael lowered the newspapers with a faint sigh, and placed them on the side table. Crowley never understood why exactly Michael insisted on reading the newspapers. None of it concerned them. But when asked, his boyfriend seemed to find the process of reading quite soothing. Which is exactly why it troubled Crowley to see him go through five books in a day over the past month.

"Crowley, we need to talk." A surge of panic made Crowley stop what he was doing (contemplate putting extra pepper into that gossipy old hag Jessica's lasagne) and stare up at him.

"We do?"

"Yes." Michael agreed, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Crowley eased himself up. "Now, I don't want you to panic. Or fret. I just want you to listen and give me an answer."

"I'll do my best, love." Crowley replied gruffly. It was easier to sound irritated than let it slip how fucking shaken he was by Michael's behaviour. He hated this gnawing sense of wrong-doing. Michael took his hands gently, and turned them over, palms facing up.

"You know how I love you."

"Yes. I feel the same way about you." Crowley replied.

"Good. I'm glad."

"Me too. Is that the talk?" He asked hopefully. Michael shook his head apologetically.

"No. It's not a talk, sweetheart. More like… A curious wondering."

"Dear Hell…" Crowley murmured.

"Don't. I'm just… Lenny asked again. You know, if we were married…"

"Oh."

"Crowley, we've been together three years. Don't you think it's time to consider it?" Michael asked gently. Crowley was about to open his mouth, to reveal that he actually had considered it, when the front door splintered, and a figure strode in with a confident swagger and an obnoxious smirk. Michael was on his feet in an instance. Crowley took exactly five seconds to realise who the intruder was. While they adopted the image of Lucifer, it was very obvious by his eyes, that this individual was a shapeshifter. And so, he joined his lover on his feet, and armed himself with a letter opener on the coffee table.

Meanwhile, Meg heard the phone pick up, and a coy smile flashed on her face like an old friend. "Hello, fire of my loins. Apple of my eye. Light of my li-" Her string of deliberately cheesy flirtations was cut short by the interruption caused by a sudden eruption of black smoke, surging from a nearby warehouse. She lowered the phone, her heart rate increasing steadily as she witnessed her brothers and sisters flee their vessels, into the skies.

"Meg?" Sabathiel's voice reached her ears, pulling Meg back to the phone, almost entranced.

"I'll hit you back, Black Sabbath." She hung up and took a small step forward. A single man ran from the building, screaming for help. She knew before he even said it. Her kin had killed their vessels and fled for Hell. Out of fear. Of a sheer, gripping fear that had consumed them.

"Dead! All of them, dead!" He cried. Meg looked up at the windows. Sure enough, the symbols were painted into the windowpanes with blood. Suicide. And a promise of worse to come.

"What the fuck?" She muttered softly.

Danielle waited outside the door for a few moments, still looking down at her hand. What did it mean? The waggle of the fingers… Was it the position? He held both hands by his face, so… Declan opened the door, and the relieved smile died instantly on his face when he saw her with a confused frown, wriggling her fingers uncertainly beside her head.

"You're teasing me too!" He exclaimed furiously. She dropped her hands in surprise.

"No!"

"You totally are! I knew it. You don't believe me. So why did you come?!" He demanded to know. A few students walked past at that moment, and started tittering petulantly.

"Maybe you finally did a good job, man! Or found a virgin-" The ringleaders insults were ended sharply by a sudden burst and shatter. Several glass shards fell down like dangerous snowflakes, and the group scattered, startled into silence. Declan gawped at her, his brown eyes wide with awe. Danielle unclenched her fist, brushing a piece of glass from her shoulder.

"I'd like to come in, please." She explained carefully. He stepped to one side, silently conceding to her entrance. The young blonde walked inside, and placed her hand on the wall briefly. A faint tingling sensation caught her hand quickly, and she pulled it away in confusion. "Declan-" He was on top of her before she could continue, pinning her to the bed and turning her quickly, straddling her waist.

"Has he picked up yet?" Castiel asked Dean quietly, studying the pen in his hands intently. Dean shook his head in annoyance, placing the phone back down on the table.

"Nope. Stubborn jerk." He grumbled. A soft sigh escaped Castiel, who reached forward to rest a hand on Dean's back gently.

"He'll come around eventually." He tried to sound comforting. It didn't really work, but Dean forced a smile and nodded slowly.

"Sure, yeah, course he will." He rubbed his eyes wearily, and very nearly leaned into Cas's shoulder, when the table suddenly made a beeping sound, and a small red light switched on, right over Ireland. And then another right next to it. Four. Six. Ten. Seven in Africa. Dean jumped up and swept his arms across the table, clearing it in one fell swoop. Suddenly there was over three dozen in America, twenty more in the South, six in Japan…

"Cas-"

"It's not the angels. Heaven Radio is panicked, but nobody is falling." The angel responded instantly. "Dean?"

"Charlie!" Dean bellowed. The redhead burst through, her eyes filled with urgency.

"Dean, there's been a demon exorcism in New York." She swallowed nervously. "Nobody exorcised them, Dean. They left themselves."

"So?" Dean was incredulous as he answered his buzzing phone. "That's nothing new!"

"Here's something new, jackass." Meg sounded uneasy as she spoke to the eldest Winchester sibling. "They killed the meatsuits. Ditched them in their den." She was inside the crime scene, having forged an identity as an FBI agent. Surrounding her, there was a collection of glass shards and kitchen knives, all coated in blood, lying in the limp hands of the dead. "This was a mercy killing. The demons must've figured the humans were better off dead."

"You guys never had much going for our way of life." Dean was snide.

"Can it, junior. I mean, the demons genuinely felt death would be kinder to them." She ran her tongue across her lips. "Dean, they did this out of fear." Which meant that something big was coming. Meg just didn't particularly relish her lack of knowledge as to what that something was.

"Sam was in the motel room, using both pillows to try and ease the discomfort he had in the bed. It wasn't working very well, and so far, all he had succeeded in doing was giving himself a neck pain for trying so hard to alleviate the back pain. Thusfar, he had remained oblivious to the chaos that was starting to grip the planet. He simply remained where he was, struggling to locate comfort in an impossible location, while a demon stole up the steps to his motel room.

Jodie was in the study, scanning through their latest bills. They were able to afford them, just about. But lately, having to buy more food for Alex and Claire, combined with college fees for Alex… It just wasn't enough for other things. She lowered her pen and ran her hand down her face, sighing wearily. "Damnit…" The floorboards creaked outside the door to the study, and she instantly dropped her hand to the table, on her feet in a heartbeat. A heartbeat that was skipped when she saw who was standing in the doorway. "Owen…" She breathed out shakily.

Claire and Alex hammered on the door of Claire's bedroom frantically, even launching kicks and objects at it. The conclusion was that, not only were they locked in, but an object was jamming the door handle from the outside. "Jodie!" Their screams remained unheard by their desired responder. But they were heard by someone arguably better. Bobby marched out of his garage, armed with a rifle and salt rounds.

"Mommy…" Owen slowly walked in, and she sank to her knees, tears welling up in her eyes. "Mom-" The front door suddenly shuddered, and Owen's head jerked to the side.

"Baby?" Jodie whispered softly, reaching out to him. The boy's gaze returned to her, just as the door finally splintered, and Bobby barged in.

"Jodie, get down!" He barked. The mother didn't have time to argue. She planted herself on the ground, covering her head, and he fired off a round, landing it perfectly into the ghost's back. It dissipated, and Jodie cried out, tears landing into the carpet. "Jodie?! Jesus Christ… Jodie, did you get hurt?!" Bobby rushed over to her and eased her up gently, cupping her face in his hands and checking her over for wounds. "Jodie, honey, answer me."

"Owen…" She choked out. "He wasn't…"

"It was a ghost, honey. I'm real sorry. But I gotta go and burn the blanket." He insisted softly. Or as softly as he could. Her response was instantaneous. Her body stiffened, and she stared at him pleadingly.

"Bobby, no…"

"Jodie, please. I have no choice."

"No, Bobby, please, no! No, don't do this!"

"Jodie, sweetheart…" He reached down and took her hands, squeezing them tenderly. "Where are the girls?"

"I…" She didn't know. She didn't know where the girls were. She immediately tried to stand up, but Bobby stopped her. "Let go! Let go, Bobby, where are they!"

"They're upstairs, Jodie!" He scrambled to his feet, and adjusted his cap, before gently cupping her cheek in his hand. "I'll go and get 'em. You grab your things, you're all staying at mine tonight."

"What? Why? Bobby, answer me!"

"Because if you stay here, then God only knows what else is gonna come crawling outta the closet." He kissed her forehead, and then ran upstairs to fetch the girls. That night, they all slept in the panic room. Nobody complained. Alex and Claire huddled up together, and didn't mention or tease Bobby, who held Jodie in his arms as she slept in the camp bed beside him. He didn't sleep that night.


	3. Chapter 3

"Brother!" The abomination beamed, stepping forward. Crowley was quicker, and planted himself like a demonic boulder between it and Michael. "Brother-in-law!" He continued without skipping a beat.

"You're no brother of mine." Michael growled out. His partner reached behind him to hold him back, in case he attacked.

"Shapeshifter?" Crowley asked, stepping back with Michael slowly. The creature flashed the couple a slimy grin.

"We all seem quite capable of adopting new forms now. Strange." He paused dramatically. "After Michael here killed me, I'd have thought it would be more difficult!"

"Michael, stay behind me." Crowley muttered gruffly. The archangel allowed his silence to answer for him. His fingers knotted into the back of Crowley's jacket, his grip just inches from the box in his pocket (and yes, folks, it actually IS a box).

Danielle grabbed the first thing her hands could claim a grip on, which happened to be a pillow, and she smacked it into the side of Declan's head. The effect was disappointing. He growled and rolled to one side, pulling her to the ground. Before he could pin her down, however, she managed to crack the heel of her hand into his nose. A cry of surprise left his throat, and she hooked her leg behind his, twisting sharply. Suddenly, he was underneath, and she was on top, landing a sharp right hook to his jaw.

* * *

"You won't be able to stop this, Danielle!" He hissed. The blonde grabbed onto the edge of the bed and pulled herself up. "It's been coming. Since the dawn of creation…"

"Amara?" She guessed, straightening her arm and catching the angel blade as it shot out. He began to laugh, a low, gruff sound.

"You'd be so lucky… Think older, sugar. Ancient. Older than life and death itself, bitch."

"I'm not your bitch." She raised the blade, just as Declan's eyes went black. The sight sent a wave of nausea over her. The guy was scarcely twenty. She couldn't just kill him. Her grip faltered.

"Once Adam and Eve are through, kiddo, we're all going to be their bitches. If we're lucky." He spat out a mouthful of blood; Danielle assumed he must've bit the inside of his cheek when she hit him.

"Michael and Crowley can help-"

"Ha!" He crowed, groaning afterwards as he moved up slightly against the wall. One arm was wedged protectively around his side. "No one can stop this…" Danielle lowered the tip of the blade slowly, realisation dawning on her. "Everybody's relying on Death now…"

"Jesus…"

"No, kiddo. Death." He corrected her as she knelt in front of him. "Crowley, the archangels, even Michael. Even your brothers! None of them can save us."

"You need to stop putting your faith into the wrong people."

"I could say the same thing to you, sunshine! Smell the fucking roses! I have no faith. Hence why there's hundreds of us self-respecting demons cutting our losses and hauling ass out of this place." His hand suddenly shot up and clamped around her wrist. "I'd advise you to do likewise, princess."

"I think I'll stick to believing in them." She replied quietly. The demon stared at her in wry amusement, before finally tilting his head back, unleashing his essence from the vessel, and surging out through the window. Danielle stepped back from the dead body, standing up once she closed the boy's eyes solemnly. "Michael, we have a situation."

* * *

During Declan's terrifying revelation, Crowley had somehow succeeded in restraining the shifter with a little help from Michael. Well. A lot of help, really. It took an extensive toll on him, to have to restrain the shifter long enough for Michael to pin him down and tie the creature to one of the dining room chairs. The King of Hell reached up to swipe at his nose; when his hand came down to touch Michael's sleeve, he became painfully aware of the dark daub of blood across the side of his finger. The shifter noticed this with a sadistic glee.

"Not so fun now, is it, majesty?" He chuckled throatily.

"Leave him out of this." Michael growled. Crowley swallowed and took a small step forward.

"I was planning on gathering a few answers from you," he replied coolly, putting up a front in the only way he knew how. "But now I don't think I care. I'll fetch the archangel blade, shall I?" He offered Michael with a mockingly cheerful smile. To his surprise, the look in the dark-haired archangels gaze was similar to the one he saw every time he collected a new soul.

"No, Crowley!" He hissed, shocked by his lovers implications. "You'll bring about the apocalypse!"

"What?" Crowley couldn't quite wrap his mind around that one. " _What?!_ "

"I'm right here, boys. Room for a little one?" The shifter rolled his neck indulgently. Michael broke eye contact with Crowley just long enough to reprimand the creature.

"Not another damned word from you, or so help me…" He snarled.

"How, pray tell, is that revolting scumbags death going to bring about the end of the world?" Crowley wanted to know.

"That revolting scumbag is Lucifer!" Michael explained with a touch of exasperation. Concern filled Crowley like water from a dam.

"No, Michael. No, it's a shifter, love. Just a shapeshifter…" Crowley raised his hands to gently rub the archangels arms, only to have his affectionate touch shrugged off angrily.

"Do I look like I was born yesterday?! I mean, he has taken Lucifer's form!" The shifter observed them with a vague amount of interest.

"Why would that make a bloody difference?" The demon was beginning to feel the start of a migraine coming along.

"You tell me, King of the Loopholes!" The response was far snarkier than anything Crowley had expected. His eyebrows shot up, and a playful smirk rested on his lips.

"I have to say, I'm torn between kissing you and further exploring the nature of that particular nickname, love."

"The apocalypse could be brought around by any creatures death while in the form of Lucifer." Michael had to physically draw the patience out of himself.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?! Sam was possessed by your lunatic brother thousands of times!"

"I AM TRYING TO BE LOGICAL ABOUT THIS!" Michael exploded furiously.

"And yet, simultaneously, you are turning me on and sounding like a complete and utter tool!" Crowley shot back.

"Oho…"

"Shut your mouth, shifter." Crowley growled menacingly. The Lucifer look-alike did so with a wide grin.

"Crowley, my love, please…" Michael forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. "Let us not risk it. He can be punished in Heaven." The idea was far from good, but Crowley honestly didn't think he could go through this argument without saying something even more regrettable. Not with this headache.

"Fine. Yes, alright, just…" He sighed heavily and nodded. Michael leaned in and kissed him gratefully on the forehead. Crowley accepted it, then regretted doing so as Michael pulled back with a fretting frown on his brow.

"Your nose… It's bleeding!"

"It's just a migraine, love. It's nothing." Crowley lied. The blood and the headache were connected, but they were caused by another factor. Something he couldn't quite deduce.

"Let me go and fetch you some water."

"Or you could just heal me…" Crowley lifted an eyebrow as Michael stopped in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Why would I waste my angelic powers on a mere headache?" He sassed back. They shared a smile, and Michael disappeared into the kitchen. Crowley turned back to face the shifter, exhaling a small sigh of relief at his saved relationship, when the shifter smirked at him.

"Good question. A better one would be, why would he waste his powers on you?"

"Shut your mouth, filth." Crowley tossed back, struggling to contain his anger that had shot up inside him like a geiser.

"Why don't you make me, prick? I'm honestly underwhelmed. You were supposed to be this great king, not some middle-aged suburban sap. Don't tell me you boys got a dog…" His voice was dripping with scorn.

"Hellhound, actually. He's upstairs if you fancy scratching his tummy." He quipped. "You'll have to come up with something better than that if you want to heat me up, junior."

"Oh, sweet cheeks." The shifter laughed mockingly. "I'm not even warmed up yet."

* * *

Dean let the phone drop to the table, a stunned stare in his eyes. Charlie bowed her head in silent distress. Castiel simply waited for Dean's familiar voice to break the ringing silence that Meg's words had left for them. It didn't arrive. And so, the angel tried to coax it out by providing his own opinion. "She was wrong. Maybe she misinterpreted it, Dean. Demons don't feel fear, not enough to react like this."

"Cas, look around. The table is lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree." Dean's voice was quiet and subdued. Charlie's head jerked up the moment his tone registered, and Castiel saw the hope leave her eyes instantly. He shook his head, even trying to smile comfortingly at them both.

"Maybe my brothers and sisters are visiting for the holidays? We can't lose hope, not now. A few demons left their vessels. That's a good thing!"

"Why would Meg call and tell us about it, then?" Charlie asked softly. Castiel hated the lost look in her eyes. He just wanted his friend to smile again. To press some buttons on her computer and show him pictures of kittens, or how to make more emoticons. But for now, a smile would suffice. A real one.

"Cas, just stop…" Dean shook his head wearily and sank into a seat. "Damnit. What the hell are we in for now?"

"Dean, don't lose hope. Come on, you two! Let's make a plan, o-or tease Meg for being so pessimistic! Right? I'll go and get the beer-" Dean's hand moved up and rested lightly on Castiel's sleeve. He shook his head once, then resumed staring at the table, and the dozens of red lights that occupied it.

"You ever wonder why he agreed to this?" The shifter looked around the living room with an air of disdain. "I mean, come on. Sword of Heaven? Living in a cul-de-sac with you and some mangy mutt from Hell's pound?"

"Did a mean lady break your heart, chum?" Crowley asked patronisingly, just about managing to hide just how deep those words cut into him. Not the dog. Although, Growley was a fine pedigree of an animal. No, it was the questioning of why a spectacular thing like Michael, would ever settle for his polar opposite in a boring house like this.

"Yeah, mommy never loved me enough. Although, I can see why we'd relate on that front… C'mon, Crowley. You're trying to tell me that, with all your loathing and pessimism, you've never once considered the fact that, oh, I don't know…" The shifters eyes lit up with malice. "Big daddy is pinning a babysitter on you?"

"A little ironic, coming from someone who's tied up to a chair at the moment, don't you think?" His hands itched for the letter opener in his pocket, but some tiny shred of self-control held his hand at bay. Crowley firmly believed that that shred was born the day he met Michael.

"I'm sure it's kept you awake at night." The shifter nodded knowingly, blissfully unaware of the rapidly decreasing shred of control within his adversary. "Wondering if this really is love? Could it really be your happy ending? Or is it just another great big conniving scheme to keep you in check?" The shred was all but gone. Crowley forced himself to chuckle slightly. One of the women had mentioned that laughter was a great stress reliever, and he sure as shit was feeling the strain of stress. But the coerced giggle did nothing to alleviate the pressure. If anything, it simply served to seal his hand around the handle of the sharp letter opener.

"I'd advise you to keep your mouth shut, abomination." Fuck it, that was the worst possible insult he could've spouted. Especially given the topic of debate.

"Well!" He laughed once, smugly. Crowley became painfully aware of his error, and pulled his hand out of his pocket to threaten him. That was all it was. A nice, easy threat, quite effective at shutting this type of captive's mouth. But the shifter simply grinned all the more. "I guess that answers my question!" Before Crowley could even contemplate a retort, the shifter stood up, the chair still bound to his body, and charged forward, straight into the opener. The slim, jagged blade tore through his skin, between his ribs, and, by the force of the charge, into his heart. The silver worked quickly.

The first thing the breathless Michael saw when he entered the living room, was seemingly his brothers dead form leaning against Crowley's blade. And all he could think of was Danielle's starting lines of her prayer to him. "We have a situation."


End file.
